


That Bad Voodoo, That You Do

by awabubbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Come Shot, Dolls, Humor, Humorous Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Meta, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn With Plot, Revenge Sex, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic, Top Sam, Voodoo, Wincest - Freeform, implied bottom sam but also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7629019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awabubbles/pseuds/awabubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds a voodoo doll of Sam and is a little shit. Sam makes a doll of Dean and gets revenge. Everything gets stupid, fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh man this is bad. This is really... _really_ bad,” Dean sweats, looking around the room in a daze, wondering if it’s too late to turn back. His brother and him have faced some pretty awful stuff together, but this might be where he draws the line.

“Dude, chill.” his little brother sighs, pointing a flashlight at Dean’s face like a total bitch. “They’re just _dolls_.”

Dean’s eyes bulge as Sam names number 5 on the list of things that gives this 26-year-old hunter the heebie-jeebies. It fits right under ‘Towns with no Pie’ and just above ‘Motel Rooms with no Porn’. Fucking _dolls_.

“Exactly!” Dean hisses, pushing the flashlight away indignantly. “ _Dolls_ , Sam. Tiny little people! With their beady, black eyes, _judging you_.” Dean scans his own flashlight across the room. In a janitor’s closet inside an old abandoned toy factory, they’ve discovered floor-to-ceiling shelves, packed tight with these nightmarish figurines.

“Baby,” Sam mutters. He’s usually more inclined to humor his older brother, but not today. They had a huge blowout right before this case, about Dad, how to find him, if he was even alive. It had been vicious and stupid (will Stanford ever stop being a sore spot?) and it's left Sam feeling raw and overly sensitive. He wants to apologize for the whole thing, put it behind them, but Dean is stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that anything was wrong to begin with and that makes Sam stubborn as well.

Of course it doesn't help that they've started fucking. Deep, buried emotions that Sam's only _beginning_ to understand cloud his senses. But he can't afford to have shit judgement. A hunter’s gotta have 2 eyes in front and 5 eyes in back (their dad's words not his). So Sam pushes their fight, and everything else, back into some other part of his brain where he can fret over it later. Right now they have a case to finish. Right now there was a room full of _dolls._

Sam scans his flashlight over the room of said dolls and yeah, okay, his brother was right about one thing at least, they _were_ creepy. Every doll was the same kind but in various sizes, a brown sack cloth body with plastic arms, legs, and head, fake hair, and painted-on eyes. None of the dolls were wearing clothes, but each had a meticulously painted face, and some of the hairstyles were unique too, like they were meant to represent real people. Sam grabs the nearest doll in front of him, a blue-eyed red-haired girl with a bright painted-on smile. He notices two pins of different colors sticking out of the cloth-sack body, but that’s not what interests him at the moment.

“Who does this look like to you?” Sam asks, waving the naked doll in front of his brother’s face.

“I don’t know man, Chucky’s Bride?” Dean huffs.

“It looks like our waitress from this morning,” Sam points out. “Anne, I think her name was. She had a heart tattoo next to her eye and see here, it’s painted on the doll as well.”

Dean takes a closer look at the doll in Sam’s hand and notes that, yes, indeed, it has a painted on heart-tattoo. He remembers the waitress in question. Remembers her flirting with him and the stupid pouty face Sam made because of it. “Oh yeah, little Annie,” he smirks. “She was _cute_.”

 _Cute._ The word stings the corners of Sam’s eyes. He quickly blinks away the memory of their flirtatious waitress and Dean’s dopey-faced grin. Sam refuses to take the bait. He’s not going to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing his stupid middle-school jealousy. But then, Dean never knows when to stop.

“Nice rack too,” Dean pushes. “What did you think, C or D cup? I think they even jiggled a little when she was pouring coffee too. Kinda brushed ‘em up against me when-”

“Are you really going to do this right now?” Sam all but spits. He knows they’re going through a weird rough patch at the moment, but Dean talking about women like he used to...before they...he couldn't stand it.

“What? Can’t I comment on hot chicks anymore?”

Dean’s doing this to get a rise out of Sam and it’s starting to work _._  “No,” Sam says hotly, “ _you can’t_!”

“What I got to be a nun all of sudden?” Dean challenges. His easy-going attitude breaking. “I’m like a dog with a bone here, Sammy, and you haven’t said two words to me outside of this case! What am I _supposed_ to think, except maybe you’re done and I should move on?”

That’s crass. Too crass for Dean to mean it, and Sam knows that, somewhere in his gut he knows that, has too, because otherwise it would rend him in two. But still, even going there, even touching on _them_ , in the middle of a hunt, it ignites the powder keg that’s been sitting between them.

“Then call up your new friend,” Sam insists, shaking the doll in his hand. “Call her up and _fuck her brains out, why don’t you!_ ”

Dean’s face twists into a knot. He hadn’t intended this to get explosive but of course, like a real winner, he’d gone and made it worse. “C’mon Sammy, didn't mean it like that,” he insists.

But Sam refuses to back down, that same stupid stubbornness that lead up to this fight. “Oh but I want you to!” Sam insists. “I want nothing more than for her to call you up, right now, and beg to suck your dick. ‘ _Please, Dean_ ,’” Sam mocks. “‘ I can make you forget all about your little brother _with my ginormous tits_!’”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters. He’s about to slap that doll out his brother’s hands and then slap some sense into Sam too when his phone starts ringing, Deep Purple vibrating out of his butt. Dean breaks the argument, turns his back on Sam and angrily whips out his phone. _“What_?” he growls. Then stops dead in his tracks.

Sam studies his brother’s leather-clad back with growing anxiety as the silence stretches out between them. “Dean?” he asks.

Dean stares at his phone, ashen, and startled. Finally he turns back to Sam. “That umm...that was Annie,” he announces. “She said…” Dean hesitates, licking his suddenly-dry lips. “She said ‘Please Dean, I can make you forget all about your little brother with…” he clears his throat instead of finishing the sentence Sam uttered seconds before.

Sam and Dean stare at each other for a long second, their feud forgotten.

“What just happened?” Sam asks, warily.

“I swear to god Sammy I never gave her my number,” Dean assures.

Sam nods. He knows the phone in Dean’s hand now is for hunting and emergencies only. It goes without saying.

“I knew this was bad,” Dean mutters. Shaking his head, he scans the shelf they found the waitress doll sitting on. Then he notices something. “Hang on, if _that_ was the waitress at the diner, then...isn’t _that_ the owner of the diner, right over there?” Dean waves his flashlight at another doll on the same shelf. “And here’s the guy that was sitting across from us at the counter!”

“And the sheriff we talked to. And the coroner.” Sam adds, illuminating the row of dolls above the waitress. And the row above that. And the shelves next to _that_ . “Oh my god _it’s everyone in town_.”

“Dude,” Dean breathes.

“Wait, look!” Sam’s light falls on another doll with brown eyes and short brown hair. Unlike the colored needles sticking out of the waitress doll, there’s a black needle sticking out of this doll’s chest. “Maggie Cirero,” he guesses, the last victim of a mysterious and sudden heart attack, the reason they spoke with the sheriff, and the coroner.

“Two, three, four.” Dean numbers the other dolls with black needles sticking out of their chests. “Ten, as far as I can count,” he concludes.

“But we’ve only read about four cases of sudden heart attacks,” Sam reminds.

“Well, there’s ten. Course some of the pins aren’t sticking out of the chest.”

Sam and Dean are silent, processing the gravity of the situation.

“Voodoo dolls,” Sam finally concludes. He turns his flashlight back onto the Annie doll in his hand, runs his thumb over some prominent stitching in the back. “And if what just happened is anything to judge by, it looks like you don’t need pins to make them work.”

“That’s some powerful hoodoo,” Dean grimaces.

“Hang on, let me see something.” Sam tucks the flashlight into the crook of his arm and reaches for the pocket knife tucked into his jeans. As the blade extends, Dean’s eyes widen.

“Woah, woah, woah!” he protests, shielding the doll’s backside with his hands. “What, you’re just commit some kind of half-assed doll autopsy right now? Don’t forget what happens to this doll _happens for real_!”

“I’m not gonna harm your precious girlfriend,” Sam growls. “See this, the stitching is different from the rest of the doll. I think there’s something inside.” Sam pivots away from his brother and slides the knife under the stitching, opening the back of the doll with a deft flick of his wrist. Then Sam digs his fingers into the opening and pulls out a small burlap bag wrapped in black cord.

“A hex bag!” Dean declares.

“Everybody in town has a hex on them."

Dean removes a similar pocket knife as Sam’s. “Then I guess we have some work to do.”

Sam looks at his brother and nods. He throws the doll in a corner of the room and the hex bag in the center. Sam goes to the left, Dean to the right, and they begin opening up the dolls and removing the bags. Dean clears a few shelves. Then, suddenly, he stumbles across a doll with a striking likeness to his little brother. Shaggy brown hair, hazel eyes and that mole by his nose, Sam's moles are unmistakable, has spent a lifetime memorizing them. Dean plucks the doll off the shelf with a laugh. “Hey, Sammy, take a look at this, it kinda looks like-” Dean gazes at the doll and remembers the fight he's having with his little brother. The doll stares back blankly, and Dean has wicked thoughts.

“Looks like what?” Sam asks, looking up from his work to shine a flashlight in his brother’s direction.

Dean quickly stuffs the doll inside his leather jacket. “Hmm?” he deflects. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just thought this one girl looked like Brandi Love. Man that’d be some luck huh? A voodoo doll of a pornstar?!” Dean flashes his brother a goofy grin to disguise his mischief.

Sam rolls his eyes. He doesn’t smile. “Try to keep it in your pants for five seconds. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to.”

Dean agrees. He goes back to de-stitching dolls and removing hex bags, but the doll in his jacket is like a live presence, pressed against his heart. “So,” he says after a long minute. “We cool?”

Sam’s answer is tortuously slow in coming. “I don’t know. You tell me."

Dean grits his teeth, doesn’t look up from the doll he’s get under his blade.“You still sound like a bitch, so I’m thinking no.”

Sam sighs, long and tired. "I guess not." And then, “I’m going to the car, get the lighter fluid." But Sam just stands there, and doesn't move, lingering, like he's waiting for something.

Dean offers nothing. "Fine," he says.

“Fine,” Sam echoes, and then finally leaves.

When Dean is alone again (if you ever can be with dolls, ugh) Dean reaches into his jacket and gently touches the miniature version of Sam pressed against his breast. He wonders if Sam can feel the warmth of his touch as he walks through the doll factory back out to the Impala.


	2. Chapter 2

After they burn the hex bags at the toy factory, Sam and Dean return to their motel where they pick opposite corners of the room to ignore each other. Sam sits at a cheap plywood desk pushed against the wall, researching the history of voodoo while Dean sits on one of two twin beds. He’s long ago given up the pretense of research though. Sprawled on his back, staring at the ceiling, he tries to remember why Sam and him were huffy at each other to begin with. It had s omething to do with going after dad. Sam had said something morose about John possibly being dead and Dean had just...shut down, complete silence for oh, say, 8 hours. And then they found this case and he’d barreled on through like nothing had ever happened. Like he always did. And maybe that was the problem. Things were different now. 

Dean bites his lip. Does that make this a brothers tiff or a lovers tiff? Dean gets a headache just thinking about it. He doesn’t want anything to change between them now that they’re...together. All he’s ever wanted was for them to be brothers again, and to heck with labeling the rest. Doesn’t even know what he would call them anyways. Brother’s with benefits? That seems cheap, like pushing Sam out, when really it’s the opposite. Sam’s never been closer, had Dean all to himself. It’s frightening, and fucking amazing. Maybe that’s why they’re both on edge, argument or not? Like when someone rips the covers off of you while you’re trying to sleep. You’re suddenly cold and you feel like shit so you shout and desperately try cover yourself till you adjust. They’d fallen into this thing together and it was like someone had ripped the blankets off them both. They just had to adjust.

Dean sighs, looks over to Sam working, serious as a heart attack. He wished they’d adjust a little  _ faster _ , is all. Dean just got his brother back and now it feels like he’s lost him again with all this awkwardness and uncertainty. He longs for Sam’s brilliant smiles, for his goofy laughs, and -shamelessly- his brother's lips pressed against his. Dean touches his jacket where the doll rests. Then again, maybe he has just the thing to speed up the process.

Dean turns onto his side, facing Sam. “You know what you’re problem is?” he states.

Sam stops. Doesn’t look at Dean just keeps staring at the screen. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” he says icily, before banging his fingers against the keyboard some more.  _ Clackclackclack. _

“You don’t know how to  _ relax _ ,” Dean concludes. “Look at you, Sammy. I can practically  _ see _ the stick shoved up your ass. And not in a good way, either.”

Sam slams his laptop closed in response. “I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, stands, and leaves the desk.

Dean lifts his head off the mattress and watches his brother disappear into the bathroom. “Good idea, maybe rub one out while you’re in there!” he calls off after him.  When Sam turns on the shower without reply, Dean sits up and carefully removes the doll from his jacket. “Hey there little guy, hope weren’t claustrophobic in there,” he says gently, brushing some hair out of the doll’s face. 

It’s funny, Dean can’t  _ stand _ dolls. They creep him out the way a decapitated corpse never could. But there’s something soothing about a doll that reminds him of his brother, it’s empty smile more tender than any of the looks he’s been getting from Sam lately. Which leads him back to the point. “Let’s help Sammy relax, shall we?”

Dean rises from the bed and approaches the bathroom, listening for all the usual sounds of his brother taking a shower. Assured that Sam is busily scrubbing at that mop of hair on his head, Dean pushes the door open, just a crack, enough to see the mirror reflecting his brother’s hazy image behind the shower’s glass partition. 

Visual established, Dean looks down at the doll in his hands, turns it over like he’s looking for the on switch. “Now how do I make you work?” he mutters, flipping through every B horror movie film he’s ever seen for some guidance. Usually voodoo dolls involve pins, which makes Dean wince. He’s not particularly fond of stabbing his brother’s doll, no matter the intention. But maybe he doesn’t need pins, maybe just touch will work. After all, Sam only had to  _ suggest  _ Annie verbally molest him before his phone suddenly rang.

“Alright Sammy, let’s see if you can feel this.” Dean turns the doll face up and presses a finger between its legs. Nothing there but fabric. On Sam, though, it might feel like someone gently stroking his cock. Dean waits, finger on the doll, watching the reflection of his brother in the mirror. Sam stops for a moment, then continues to shower. Dean waits for another second, but nothing.

He frowns, lifts his finger, tries again. This time Dean massages the doll slowly, but firmly. He’s rewarded by a little thud, like Sam dropped the soap. Dean keeps going at it, remembering the feel of his brother’s cock in his hand, the first time Sam let him touch it, the surge of electricity that raked over Dean’s skin. “C’mon Sammy, I know how you like it,” he whispers.

Finally Dean is rewarded by a low, guttural moan from inside the shower that instantly makes him half-hard. Dean peers into the mirror again to find Sam bent over, jerking himself off. He grins wickedly, palming his own cock at the sight. “That’s right,” he whispers. “Loosen up. Make yourself feel good.” 

Dean licks his lips, unbuttons his fly and lets himself free, cock pink, and flushed, and eager. He feels the heat coming through the bathroom door and thinks of the heat from inside Sam the first time his little brother let him slip inside. Sammy spreading himself wide, his pink little hole already fucked open from Dean’s fingers, clenched-relaxed-clenched-relaxed, eager and uneasy all at once. My first time, Sam, whispered like a white-lace virgin and goddammit if Dean didn’t almost blow his load right there! 

Another moan drifts through the open door, long and wanting. Is Sam thinking of the same thing? Thinking of Dean inside of him? Thinking of how dumb this fight is? Dean turns the doll over in his hand, starts touching the back instead of the front. Does this count as fingering his brother or fucking him?

“Remember that? Remember how good I can make you feel?” Dean whispers. His hand is slick with his own precome, furiously tugging at his own cock. 

He leans against the wall and watches the hazy image of his brother jerking himself off as well. Dean squints. The way Sam is bent over, is he fingering himself? It’s hard to tell, but Dean imagines he is. Pictures his brother, tall and lean with two (wait, three) fingers shoved inside of himself, panting. Could he be saying Dean’s name? Dean strains to hear, but the shower is too loud. With the doll he could make Sam say it, shout it so the whole damn motel hears, but that would spoil for it him. Dean knows this whole doll thing is suspect at best, but he’s greedy for his brother’s touch. Sam has all of him now and that’s a power Dean’s granted nobody else his entire life. It’s scary, and strange, to think that a stupid fight like this could throw him off so much, make him feel like the world is upside down. And maybe part of him thinks he deserves this, a little control over his brother, the way Sam controls him.

“Dean!” 

Dean perks up at the quiet, strangled cry coming from the bathroom. So quiet he almost missed it but there it was! And just like that Dean comes as well, hips jerking, spilling out onto the doll in his hands, painting his little brother’s backside white with come. 

Dean bites back a groan, letting his orgasm wash over him. He listens inside the bathroom but there's only the quite hum of the shower water. Dean pants and smears his come across the back of the doll, rubs it in like his own private spell. 


	3. Chapter 3

The doll doesn’t work like it’s supposed to.

Well, no, it works _exactly_ like it's supposed to. Sam stumbles out of the shower with pink cheeks and weak legs like he’s come so hard he’s a little confused by it. Dean knows none of that would have happened if it hadn’t been for the doll, but Dean was also hoping that Sam would have loosened up afterwards. Dean, himself, is very agreeable after sex. If Sam had asked Dean to drive his Baby blasting Taylor Swift and singing badly to all of the lyrics, he would have shrugged and said sure why not, what the hell.  But Sam did _not_ ask Dean to drive the Impala blasting Taylor Swift. In fact he didn’t ask Dean anything. He just picked up his clothes and went back into the bathroom to change, like Dean didn’t even deserve to see him shimmy into his boxers.

It was insulting. He ought to sit his brother down and explain a thing or two about post-orgasmal bliss. Mainly, that it should make you a little less pissy towards your brother! Sam never gives him the chance, though. After getting dressed Sam mutters something about the library and leaves. Dean has nothing left to lecture except the mini!version of his little brother. So he sits the doll on his knee like they’re about to have a heartfelt chat.

“What the hell was that, huh?” Dean asks. “You call my name in the shower and then you act like I’m not even here? There’s _got_ to be a law against that...somewhere. I hope that’s what you left to research!”

Dean glares at the doll, but nothing happens. It seems he could make Sam do anything but talk to him. Dean sighs and looks away. “No, you’re right. It’s not fair to yell at you. I guess I should try to talk to the kid myself, huh?” The Sam doll is silent. That same, blank stare. Dean frowns. “Well you don’t gotta be all smug about it!”

The doll gets tucked back into his jacket, and Dean drives the Impala to the library (Sam had hopped a bus without so much a how-de-do in Dean’s direction!). He finds his little brother sitting at a table by himself. So Dean grabs a few random books off the shelves and sits down across from Sam.

“Well fancy meeting you here Mister Makes Himself Scarce,” Dean declares. “S’matter, can’t stand the sight of me anymore?”

Sam rolls his eyes. Sighs, and puts down the book he’s been studying. “Dean. Did you happen to _find_ anything in that toy factory? Anything...magic related, that maybe you’re not telling me about?”

Dean stiffens, sits upright in his chair. “What are you talking about?”

Sam raises his brow like he’s inventing Dean to keep talking.

“You think I have a doll of you or something?!” Dean huffs. “C’mon Sammy what do I look like, eight? I don’t _play_ with dolls. I never have!”

“It’s just, things like that are dangerous,” Sam explains. “If it fell into the wrongs hands…”

“I don’t have a doll of you!” Dean grunts, interrogation-face on, denying any culpability just like daddy taught him. “Is that why you’ve become such a bitch all of a sudden -or should I say _more_ of a bitch- because you think I’ve been fingering some little voodoo doll of you? How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

“Well I’m not!” Dean defends. “But you can think whatever you want, Sammy. I’m gonna find this witch and gank her on my own if that’s what it takes.” Dean slams his palms on the table, but lingers, like he’s waiting for something.

Sam goes back to his research and offers nothing. “Fine,” he says.

“Fine!” Dean grunts. He leaves the table, his chair scratching noisily across the library floor. An assistant putting away books shushes him and Dean flips them the bird as he angrily disappears into the stacks, his heart racing a mile-a-minute.

Okay, so, Sam had figured him out. And worse, Dean had lied about it. Badly. Although what did Sam expect? Dean wasn’t about to admit that he’d been playing house with some witch’s playthings.

Dean peaks out from between the stacks, spying on Sam who has gone back to studying like Dean was never there. Dean’s hand sneaks into his jacket where the doll is still quietly tucked away. Maybe he could take it out back and burn the hex bag. That way Sam would never know if he was lying or not. Dean looks to his left, and to his right to make sure he’s alone and then removes the doll so he can examine it. Maybe Sam was right, maybe this thing was just too dangerous, no matter what.

“Of course it’s not like I was vindictive or anything,” Dean whispers to himself. “I didn’t demand you come in your pants and embarrass yourself!” Dean smiles at the image of his little brother involuntarily creaming himself, but then he realizes what he’s just said. Oh shit. _That didn’t count did it?!_

Dean whips around in time to Sam turn beet red and shudder violently in his seat. The look of mortification on his little brother’s face is on Dean’s as well. Under any other circumstances he would be proud of Sam jizzing himself in a public place. But not _these_ circumstances. Not when Dean is already in hot water and he honest-to-god did not mean to do that! He wants to apologize to Sam but Sam is already hightailing it to the bathroom with a hand over his crotch, so Dean follows after him in hot pursuit. He bursts through the bathroom door pushing his confession in front him.

“Oh god, I’m sorry Sammy, I didn’t mean to. Honest! I just said it and then all of a sudden...guess I don’t know my own strength-”

“Where is it?!”

His little brother comes up from behind and slams Dean into the nearest stall. Dean hears the door lock behind him as he stumbles forward and nearly lands head-first into the toilet, catches himself with two hands on the lid. But then Sam’s suddenly patting him down like that, feeling up his jeans and his jacket while Dean’s got his ass stuck up in the air.

“Okay, well, I’m not gonna dispute this new form of foreplay but you could at least warn a guy first.”

“Where is it?!” Sam growls, finished patting Dean down, but coming up empty-handed. “I know you have a voodoo doll, Dean, don’t try to deny it!”

Dean pushes himself upright and waves his brother away. “Yeah, yeah. Hang on, it’s right here,” he says, reaching into his jacket. His eyes graze over his little brother: pink-faced and with a dark stain on the front of his jeans. He searches for the doll and has to swallow down a chuckle.

“I can’t believe you!” Sam fumes. “Of all the low down, dirty-”

“Oh come on, it was accident!” Dean defends. “I mean _this_ time it was accident. The shower, well…” Dean shrugs his brows and grins big.

“I’m never forgiving you for this,” Sam declares, but there’s no bite to it.

Dean smirks, checks the right side of his jacket, and then his left. Frowns. “Wait..hang on.” He checks again. And then again. Each time finds nothing.

“ _You didn’t_ ,” Sam groans.

“I musta left it out in the stacks!”

Suddenly the two brothers are fighting each other to get out of the stall first, to unlock the door first, and to bust out of the bathroom first, racing each other across the library. Of course only Dean knows where he was hiding the doll, and when he reaches the pair of shelves where he cursed Sam to jizz himself, the doll is nowhere to be found. Sam checks the shelves before and after that pair, and they both scan every shelf, nook, and cranny with no luck. Sam even asks the librarian if anyone’s found a small doll and turned it into the lost and found. But the old lady at the desk doesn’t seem very happy to help his little brother when she sees he’s sweaty, pink in the face, and sporting a colossal wet spot on the front of his jeans. Still, she smiles politely and says no one’s returned a doll which means they’ve officially lost it.

“I’m never forgiving you for this!” Sam barks and this time Dean’s worried he means it.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean sits on the hood of the Impala parked behind a 7/11, the cold UV light inside the station illuminating the dark in an eery effervescent glow. A light drizzle sprinkles droplets across his car. Dean shivers, draws his jacket over himself and waits for Sam to return with their dinner of cheese sticks and cold wraps.

They’d assembled their own hex bag to protect from black magic and draped it around Sam’s neck. His little brother was safe, for now, but it was Dean’s neck that was still on the line. Sam’s mood has gone from sulky to downright stone cold and this time Dean knows he deserves it. He never intended to put Sam in harm’s way but that’s just what he did and it makes Dean feel like shit. Worse than shit. More like a maggot that squirms around and feeds on shit. Yeah, that was him. It was supposed to be his job to protect Sammy but he’d done the opposite. Dean frowns. Maybe this thing between him and Sam wasn’t a good idea after all.

Dean sits and broods over this questions when suddenly, he feels a sharp pain up his backside. Dean gasps, sliding off the hood of the car. It’s not a pain, exactly, more like a pressure but it’s deep, and strong, and it makes his head spin. As quickly as it starts, however, it stops.

Dean is left blinking in the rain, wondering _what the fuck_?

He scratches his head, looks around, shrugs. And then suddenly “Aaah!” There it is again, sharper this time, more intense. Dean falls against the hood of his car, his ass in the air as the pressure increases. It’s kind of crazy but it feels like he has to take a dump. “Aaah-aaaahh!”

Then the pressure subsides. Dean tries to stand up but finds that he’s glued to the car. “What the he-aaaahhh!!!” The feeling comes back! And that’s when Dean realizes he doesn’t have to get something out of his ass, there’s something trying to get _in it._ There’s some invisible force pushing inside his asshole! “Fuuccck!” Dean groans, his head spinning in a million different directions. The pressure keeps up, steady, insistent but not more than he can handle. In and out, in and out. He knows exactly what’s happening now and, embarrassingly, it starts to feel good. “Fuck, fuck fuck,” Dean pants, as his cock begins to swell.

“Not so much fun, is it Dean?”

Dean looks up, or as much as he can plastered to the wet hood of his car like this, and sees his little brother frowning down at him with his _own_ voodoo doll.

Dean realizes he’s in for it now. “Heeeey Sammy,” he drawls with a loose smile. “Whatcha got there?”

“It’s called karma,” Sam says, shoving his homemade voodoo doll into Dean’s face. “And she’s a real bitch, isn’t she?”

Dean squints and takes a closer look at the “doll” in question. Bent over and with Sam’s fingers pressed against it’s ass, just like he is now, Dean realizes the doll is made up of nothing but a pair of jerky sticks lashed together with a piece of cloth from an old t-shirt of his tied around its middle. Compared to the carefully painted Sam doll, this Dean doll was a little insulting.

“Jerky sticks!” Dean huffs. “Jesus Christ Sam, I’m your brother, you couldn’t have _tried_ a little harder?”

Sam yanks back the doll, offended by the affront to his craftsmanship. “Shutup, Dean!”

And suddenly Dean’s mouth snaps closed like a wire trap.

“Oh! Oh! Sorry,” Sam apologizes, the first crack in his anger that Dean’s seen for about 48 hours now. “I’m, no, I didn’t mean that, you can talk.”

Dean sighs as his jaw relaxes. “See!’ he insists. “It’s easy to fuck up with that thing.”

“That’s no excuse for using it in the first place,” Sam lectures, and Dean agrees, although his brother’s moral high ground is a little compromised by the jerky sticks in his hand.

“On second thought a gas station voodoo doll is pretty clever,” Dean admits. “Gotta admit, I’m kinda proud of you kiddo.”

“Says the guy whose ass is in the air,” Sam smirks. “You know I let you up like five minutes ago right?”

“Oh,” Dean says, lifting a hand off the car.

“Dean-”

“Hey what do ya know!” Dean declares, standing. His front side is wet from the rain on his car, making the bulge in his pants even more pronounced.

“-did that you turn you on?” Sam finishes, amused.

“What?” Dean dismisses with a laugh. “No why-” and back down he goes as Sam utilizes the voodoo doll again.

“You know, you _really shouldn’t lie_ to me anymore,” Sam tuts, moving around the car, behind Dean. “I’m more than just your little brother now.”

Dean pants as that pressure begins to build again, pushing in and out of him. “About-ha-that-ungh. I was thinking-oh-that maybe-fuck-that wasn’t such a-ungh-good idea.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

The pressure stops. Dean, already hard and throbbing at this point, misses it. “It’s just, I let you down, Sammy. I lost the doll and I could of really got you hurt. All because I thought a little hanky panky would get us to stop fighting.”

Sam smiles warmly. He really does love his brother. Even if he can be an idiot. “How about you make it up to me, and then we call it even?”

Dean feels his zipper being undone, jeans being shimmied down his hips. His flushed cock brushes against the wet metal of his Impala. It sends a thrill shooting up the back of his spine and Dean knows he could never give this up, not ever, not for the world.

“You’ve got the doll, Sammy,” Dean tempts. “Guess that’s up to you.”

“I guess it is,” Sam agrees, before burying his face between Dean’s cheeks.

Dean moans something ragged. He’s forgotten that they’re out in the open, exposed to the elements and to anybody that might want to take a piss behind the 7/11. But even if someone does get an eye full of Dean with his ass in the air, he doesn’t really give a fuck. Sam’s insistent, skillful rimming make Dean think of heaven, not the parking lot of a gas station.

Then comes Sam’s fingers, spit-slicked and oh-so-gently working him open. Dean doesn’t think of himself as a cockslut, most of his fantasies with Sam involve fucking his little brother at angles even the kama sutra hasn’t thought of, but he’s got no shame in this right now. Dean’s fingered himself plenty to know the feel of 2, now 3 (woah slow down there Sammy) digits inside of him. He doesn’t know how far this will go but the thought sends shudders down his already swollen cock, tightens his balls. Dean likes feeling full of his brother, even when Sam scissors his fingers, stretching him open as far as he’ll go, and it stings. Dean knows he fucked up with the doll. Part of him _wants it_ to sting.

“Fuck me,” Dean declares, and now there’s no ambiguity about how far this will go. “Goddamnit, Sam, ride me already!”

Sam laughs at him. That stings a little too, and Dean likes it. “Okay,” Sam agrees. Pulling his fingers out of Dean, Sam sucks them noisily and Dean feels a rush of warmth for his slutty little brother. Maybe his tactics had been wrong all along. Maybe if he’d just begged Sam to fuck him in the beginning they could have skipped all the hurt feelings shit and just gotten to the good stuff. But then again maybe he wouldn’t be pinned to the hood of his Impala with Sam slowly sliding a cock up his ass, and that would be sad.

“Aaah, fuck!” Dean hisses, as Sam’s head pushes past the brim of his ass, not fucked-open enough, apparently, for the size of his little brother’s dick. “Fucking horsecock,” Dean accuses while literally pushing himself onto Sam.

“You love it,” his brother purrs, hands kneading into Dean’s fleshy hips. “Just give yourself a second to adjust.”

Dean breathes hot and heavy on the cool steel of the Impala. A light drizzle stills falls, covering his skin like the sheen of sweat. He focuses on relaxing as Sam slides all the way inside, balls deep. “Fuck,” Dean groans. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

Sam leans forward, kissing his neck and shoulders with reverence. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into the freckled wasteland of his brother’s back.

“For what?” Dean huffs, breathless and ecstatic.

“For this whole...stupid thing,” Sam says. “For being stubborn. For-”

“Oh goddamnit!” Dean groans. “You did not stick a dick in me so I’d have to listen to your chick flick apologies. Just get on with it already, _before I change my mind_!”

Sam laughs at his empty threats. “Right, right,” he says, grinding his hips into his older brother.

Dean feels Sam move inside him and growls low with hunger. Sam begins fucking him and it feels like the fingers but thicker, deeper, like Dean is full and about to burst. Sam fucks him and it’s like a straight line to his cock. Skin, slapping skin, slapping rain-wet steel. Sam’s balls slap against his ass and Dean’s leaking cock slaps against his car. The pressure that kept Dean hugging the hood of the Impala has long since dissipated, his jerky stick voodoo doll probably forgotten in the mud. It’s replaced now by Sam’s long, lean body, draped over him as he pounds slowly but steadily inside of him. That’s just fine with Dean, who likes his open mouth pressed against his Baby, his cock dragging against her like she’s getting a sick bit of the fun as well. His Baby, and his baby brother: the only thing Dean really needs in this life. Oh and to come, Dean wants that pretty badly as well. Sam’s fucking builds something up inside him until suddenly it bursts, Dean growling obscenities as his cock spurts come across the Kansas license plates they used to call home.

Sam draws out of him when Dean comes, out of uncertainty or kindness for his used up asshole Dean doesn’t know, but either way he drops to his knees in front of the Impala with his mouth open wide.

“C’mon,” he goads Sam, whose cock is still hard and flushed in his hands. “C’mon Sammy I want to taste you. Make me wait so long. Fuck. Do it, c’mon.”

And Sam doesn’t hesitate, jacks his cock until he comes as well, groaning his older brother’s name while painting streaks across his open, parted lips. “Jesus, Dean. Ungh!”

Dean closes his eyes and licks his lips. He draws the salty taste of his brother into his mouth, lapping it up like honey and sighs, deeply, deeply satisfied. When he opens his eyes again he sees his little brother looking down at him with such total adoration that he knows Sam has forgiven him, and will always forgiven him no matter. That kind of love washes over him, touches him deep and floods him with warmth, despite the cool rain.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where the stupid comes in. Thanks everybody for reading. Please enjoy, have fun, wear condoms <3

Sam and Dean lay in bed together, Dean’s hand tangled in Sam’s hair, Sam’s leg twined through his own. United, finally.

“So...we cool?” Dean asks with a lazy grin, the same question he asked before all of this craziness started.

Sam smiles with all the affection of a little brother, and maybe something else, something that would lock them together through hell and high water. “We’re cool,” he grants, laying his cheek on Dean’s chest, the hex bag he’d worn for protection temporarily removed, lost somewhere in the sheets.

Dean untangles his hand from Sam’s head to let them gently drape over his little brother’s cheek. “Bet you wish you’d kept that doll huh? For all the times I piss you off.”

Sam chuckles. He’d lost track of the jerky stick version of his brother between fucking him on the car and Dean fucking him back on the motel bed. “Maybe,” he muses. “Maybe I’d force you to let me drive the car once in awhile.”

“Let’s not get carried away now…” Dean laughs nervously. 

“No,” Sam agrees. “But we should finish solving this case. There’s still a witch out there, somewhere.”

“You mean this porn comes with plot?” Dean groans.

“Unfortunately,” Sam nods.

That’s when the climax of the plot hits them both! Sam and Dean find themselves thrown against the wall above their rented bed, pinned in place by some invisible hand as the door of their room is thrown wide open. A woman enters holding the Sam doll Dean had lost at the library, and the jerky doll Sam made at the gas station. Side-by-side, Dean still thinks Sam could have tried a little harder with his doll, the jerky is a looking a little soggy from this position. But then his position changes. The pressure is released from his chest. Sam and Dean collapse face-forward onto the bed.

“Who are you?” Sam gasps.

“I’m the climax!” The witch announces. “No wait, I’m the witch!” the climax announces. She has a long black dress, a crooked nose, and a pointed hat. Like a witch straight out of a fairy tale, or like the author was too lazy to invent their own villain. “I’ve been waiting this whole time for you to come and find me but you’ve been too busy boning each other senseless!” she accuses. Secretly, her feelings were hurt.

"That’s not true,” Dean insists. “We were definitely going to gank you.”

“When?!” she demands.

“Right after this,” Sam assures. “We were going to get in the car and come find you.”

“Well, I _was_ going to try and blow you in the car,” Dean admits. To which Sam nods his approval. He would have liked that.

“Enough!” the witch shouts. The audience has already forgotten about her, imagining future blow jobs. “I’m going to deliver the resolution to this story as quickly as possible!”

“Wait!” Sam stalls. “Aren’t you going to tell us why you have dolls of everyone in town?”

"Do you even care?” she asks.

Sam and Dean look at each other and shrug.

“Did you ever see that Twilight Zone episode where the people wake up in a town full of plastic trees and it turns out they’ve become dolls to a giant?”

“Uhhh…” Dean says.

“I think the author is reaching,” Sam mutters.

“Well it doesn’t matter. You’ve discovered my horrible secret and now you must pay!”

The witch shakes her voodoo dolls and the brother’s get thrown to opposite ends of the room, but not before each of the boys grabs an item off of their nightstand: Dean, his gun, and Sam, his phone. Dean holds his gun aloft and aims it at the witch’s head, but the witch forces his doll to turn towards Sam. Dean stares down the barrel of his 9mm now pointing at his little brother holding his phone in front of his face.

“Sammy!” Dean cries, trying with everything he can to pull his arm away. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Wait, Dean-” Sam tries to say something but it’s too late. The witch forces Dean’s finger to pull the trigger and a sudden shot erupts inside the small room. Dean winces and hears a body crumple to the floor.

Then, miraculously, he can move his arm! Dean opens his eyes to see his little brother alive, his phone on the floor, a bullet lodged in it’s casing. The witch is on the ground as well, next to the phone. Dean kicks her just to make sure she’s dead.

“Ding, dong,” he says, and then looks up to his little brother. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Sam assures. “There might be some plot holes but I’ll choose to ignore them.”

Dean nods in agreement. “But what even happened?”

“I took her picture and turned the phone into a voodoo doll. I used the same hex I used on yours,” Sam explains. “So when you shot the phone, you also shot her.”

“Atta boy!” Dean declares, ruffling his brother’s hair with pride. “What would I do without my geek sidekick huh?”

“Stuck masturbating solo,” Sam shoots back.

“Hey now, don’t turn this into a horror story.”

The brothers grin at each other, but then turn back to the dead witch at their feet. Unfortunately, she hadn’t fallen into one of those plot holes.

“Bury or burn?” Dean asks cheerily.

“Bury,” Sam decides, so they wrap her in a pair of cheap motel sheets and dump her in trunk.

“Did I ever tell you how good your ass looks in those jeans?” Dean asks. He was staring the whole time they were moving the body, and probably before then too.

Sam shakes his head. “Are you hitting on me while there’s a corpse in the car?”

“There’s always a corpse in the car!” Dean dismisses with a wave of his hand.

Sam laughs. “Okay then, let’s go.” He moves towards the passenger side of the car, trailing his hand across the Impala's hood. “And uh, you could still think about blowing me, if you wanted.”

“Never stopped,” Dean grins.

They slide in the car together the same way they walk together, perfectly in sync. Whatever this was between them (family, love, something else) they’d make it work. Dean revs the engine, his Led Zeppelin tape kicks into play. The Winchester brothers drive out of the motel towards a future full of witches, ghosts, ghouls, and best of all: blowjobs.

 

**The End**


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